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“What?” Cordelia gave her a small, amused smile. “You ain’t in any position to make threats right now. I get that Ruth’s actions made you suspicious, but Ruth Feltz ain’t the Antistasi. We’re not your enemy, Esta. Help us, and there ain’t no reason Harte Darrigan needs to come to any harm.”

Esta didn’t immediately respond, but Maggie thought she likely understood exactly how stuck she was. “It doesn’t seem like I have much choice,” Esta said finally.

“There’s always a choice,” Cordelia told her, looking eminently pleased with herself. “But you gotta make the right one.”

“If I help you?” Esta asked, her voice tight. “If I commit myself to the Antistasi’s cause?”

“Once we have the artifacts, we’ll be unstoppable. We can end the Brotherhoods’ power once and for all. All the Sundren who’ve forced us into the shadows will live to regret their hatred.”

No, Maggie thought as confusion flashed through her. That isn’t right. Revenge wasn’t what any of the Antistasi’s work had been about.… Was it?

“We don’t want to treat you like an enemy,” Cordelia told Esta. “Not when you could be our ally.” Then she turned to Maggie with a serious look. “I guess I should be getting back. If nothing else, we need to find the dagger, and soon. Especially if Jericho was right about seeing some kind of guard from St. Louis at the show.”

“What?” Maggie’s head whipped around. “You don’t mean Jefferson Guard?”

“May could be that’s what he called them,” Cordelia said. “It happened earlier today. It must have slipped his mind to tell you, considering everything else that’s happened.” She finally tucked the small pistol away.

“If there are Guardsmen in Denver, it means the Society knows we’re here,” Maggie said. Suddenly nothing seemed as important as getting to Jericho. She turned to her table and started collecting as many of the devices and formulations as she could. She might need them all to get him out of there safely.

“What’re you doing?” Cordelia asked.

“I just pushed Jericho out the door and straight into a trap,” Maggie said, counting the incendiaries as she filled her pouch. “I’m coming with you.”

“I’ll take care of Jericho,” Cordelia said.

Maggie looked up. “No, I have to—”

“I know my way around the show. No one will notice me. You, on the other hand…” Cordelia looked her up and down, and Maggie felt her cheeks warm with the implication that the sharpshooter found her wanting. “You’d only draw attention and make things even more dangerous for him.”

“But—”

“No. You’ll stay here and make sure Esta doesn’t forget where her loyalties should lie,” Cordelia decided. “If you think you can handle that much.”

“I can handle it,” Maggie said through clenched teeth.

“Good.” Cordelia adjusted her hat in the hazy mirror. “You know, Margaret, for a second there, I really thought you might accept Jericho’s offer to up and leave. I thought maybe you’d forgotten what you have at stake in all of this.”

Something in Cordelia’s voice sent a trickle of foreboding down Maggie’s spine. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing much,” Cordelia said. “But I’d watch yourself, if I were you. The Professor has already started to wonder if his trust in you has been misplaced.”

“The professor?” Esta sat up a little straighter. “What professor?”

Maggie ignored Esta. “I didn’t realize you were in contact with him,” Maggie told Cordelia, trying to remain calm. But the room swam a little as she realized what that meant. What the Professor might already know.

“He ain’t too happy with your recent silence,” Cordelia said, looking far too satisfied with herself. “Don’t worry, though. I’ve assured him that all’s well.” She gave a small shrug. “Of course, that was before I learned that y’all had lost the necklace. If I were you? I wouldn’t give me any other reason to doubt your loyalty—not unless you’d like him knowing. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I need to be getting back. We wouldn’t want to let Jericho go off unsupervised. He might start thinking about leaving again or doing something else you’d regret.”

HIS FATHER’S SON

1904—San Francisco

Harte ignored the ache in his head and in his leg as he considered what to do with the boy—his brother—and how to get out of the basement storeroom. He had to get back the artifacts that had been taken from him, and to do that, he had to find his father. Maybe the boy could help with that.

Squatting down until he was eye level with the child, Harte leaned in as though he had a secret. “You know, I could do a really wonderful trick if I had more space,” he said, hating himself for the duplicity. But it would be far easier to have the child show him the way out than to risk taking a wrong turn in the building. For now the child seemed to like him. He’d use that—even if the boy ended up hating him later. “Would you like to see another one?”

The child nodded, his expression bright and hopeful.

“Do you know where we might find a little more room?” Harte asked. “This cellar’s awfully cramped. There’s no way an elephant would fit in here.”